


Biological Imperative

by wheel_pen



Series: Malachite [8]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malachite is feeling very strange today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biological Imperative

            Malachite felt... odd. Kind of bad, but not like glowing-green-crystals bad. More like... tense. Like there was something very unpleasant that was going to happen soon, and he was worried about it, but he’d also kind of forgotten what exactly it was. He rubbed his stomach absently, trying to remember what the bad thing was. Was Luks’s father coming for a visit soon? The suggestion didn’t ring a bell. He hadn’t foolishly promised Ahnah he’d attend playgroup with her and Koko again, had he? Malachite was pretty sure he wouldn’t fall for _that_ ruse a second time.

            And then Malachite saw Luks walking by, crossing the hallway downstairs to his office, absently glancing at some papers in his hands, and he wanted to—wanted to—Chopped scenes flashed before his eyes, quick-cut scenes of pushing, grinding, groaning, panting, up against a wall, over a desk, hearing Luks moan breathlessly, only Luks wasn’t the one on top, and—Malachite gripped the railing of the balcony before he passed out from the rush of blood leaving his head, traveling south at top speed. The wood cracked under his grip. The sound was muffled by the noise of Luks shutting the door to his office, out of sight, and for a moment Malachite fought the urge to run down and burst through the doors to see him again. His feet actually shuffled forward on the carpet before he stopped himself. He wasn’t in control of himself. He couldn’t go down there and see Luks. He had no perspective at the moment. What if Luks got hurt?

            The thought rushed over him like a bucket of ice water, momentarily stealing his breath and making him light-headed again, before he’d really recovered from the first time. The wooden railing groaned but he didn’t dare let go of it. Malachite closed his vibrant green eyes, breathing, thinking of nothing—something he was good at, something he had learned during stressful situations in the past but hadn’t used in a very long time—and after a moment his head started to clear. He let go of the railing, checking it discreetly for visible damage. None was apparent. But something had definitely cracked inside.

            Malachite took a breath, shook his head, went downstairs. Emphatically _not_ to be closer to Luks, though. Instead he wandered into the den and threw himself down on the couch to watch some mindless TV. In a couple hours he would probably forget all about that weird little incident.

 **

            The show was about fitness models, he thought. A contest for them, or perhaps something about the photoshoot for a fitness magazine. Malachite couldn’t be sure because he had the sound muted. Luks would laugh hysterically—well, quirk his eyebrows and smirk—if he walked in and found Malachite vegging out to a show featuring busty, tanned blonds popping out of their skimpy bikinis and bulging with muscles. He wasn’t exactly turned on... just weirdly fascinated by the lengths some people would go to in shaping their bodies. I mean, how many people out there _really_ found a woman with muscles the size of grapefruit to be attractive? He swore some of them appeared to have mustaches too.

            Then he smelled something, and his head jerked around before he could even identify the scent. It wasn’t smoke or fresh baked goods—two things likely to capture his attention quickly—it was... The only thing he could think was, it was Luks. Which didn’t really make sense, as he sat there on the couch sniffing, because he didn’t really think of Luks as _having_ a scent. Well, of course he _did_ , everybody did, but Malachite usually only noticed it when they were curled up in bed together, because Luks didn’t use any kind of cologne or scented shampoo or anything like that. It was a smell Malachite quite liked, really, but since Luks didn’t even appear to be in the room—

            Malachite found himself on his feet and halfway to the door before he even realized he had moved. Sticking his head out the doorway of the den he saw Luks walking down the hall, back to the teenager—he had probably just passed the ajar doorway on his way to the kitchen. Malachite inhaled, catching a stronger whiff of the previously imperceptible scent Luks had left in his wake, and instantly he was beset with those images again—need, thrust, want, must have, now, harder, _now_ —until he was leaning on the door with one arm, clutching the doorknob so hard it bent, breathing heavily like he’d just run a marathon. Run a marathon for _him_ anyway, which would have most other people collapsed on the ground miles back.

            “F—k!” he hissed furiously, but it was the wrong curse to choose, since it illustrated primarily what he was imagining in all its urgent, desperate, almost violent carnality. And Ahnah definitely _wasn’t_ the one on the receiving end of his fantasies. The scent wafted towards him again in a breeze, as if taunting him, and he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with it, filling his blood with it. The images grew more vivid; he could practically hear the moans, taste the salty skin under his mouth—then there was a loud _snap!_ and he felt the doorknob break off, felt its weight in his palm. Slowly, slowly, his breathing calmed, the scent left his senses, his head stopped spinning, and he was able to think—or rather, not think—again. He looked at the broken doorknob in his hand and let out a breath, feeling—worried and uncertain. Was he sick? He never got sick. Maybe there were some of those green crystals around, tiny particles tracked in to the house? That was the only thing that had ever affected him so strongly, although the feeling was completely different. Malachite set the doorknob carefully on the table and headed outdoors. Maybe what he needed was some fresh air and physical exertion—farm chores, a run through the meadows—to get him back to normal.


End file.
